


Second Chances Don't Happen For Assholes

by FlirtingWithFandom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlirtingWithFandom/pseuds/FlirtingWithFandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He takes a deep breath, lifts his head, and locks eyes with the demon that was about to take him to hell. Thunder cracks overhead.</p><p>Stiles smiles slightly as he says, "I don't know if you've heard, but Beacon Hills is protected."</p><p>The demon, its pale skin glowing slightly, says in a low voice that sounds more like a croak than anything, "Oh yeah? By who?" It nods to the ground where Scott and Derek's bodies are.</p><p>Still smiling, Stiles raises his bat, gripping it tightly, "Me."</p><p>Lightning flashes.</p><p>Then Stiles runs at the demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning of the End

At some point, Stiles has to ask himself why the hell he is still fighting monsters in Beacon Hills. But really, it's all he knows. He's 25, degree-less, jobless, family-less. All he has are scars and the ghosts of all the people he couldn't keep from dying. 

 

In high school alone, he lost Erica and Boyd and they were werewolves for God's sake. Then Allison. Scott was really never the same after she died. Neither was Stiles if he was being totally honest. The Nemeton had fucked them all up. After school his dad was shot on duty. After hours upon hours in the hospital, listening to his dad's painfully labored breathing, until finally, the Sheriff passed away. 

 

For the rest of that year, time stood still for Stiles. He became reckless with his fighting. He jumped into the fight first, trying to satiate this blood-lust he had. Hoping that he would be the next one to go. It didn't help. Everyone else still died. Kira. Isaac. Cora. Jackson. Danny. 

 

Derek didn't turn anyone else. What was the point? Everything just kept coming at them too fast. Lydia ran after Jackson died. Last Stiles heard she was in Bogota. He didn't contact her anymore.

 

Deaton just disappeared. Stiles didn’t blame them for getting out. Beacon Hills was a black hole. If he could get out he would. But he had to continue to fight his demons. And this week's special breed of monster was an _actual_ demon.

 

It had already killed 4 people with varying methods: drowning an old man, bashing in someone's rib cage, beheading a librarian (that one was particularly gruesome), and, most recently, by hanging. Tonight, they hoped to catch it. Derek and Scott were currently hunting it down in the Preserve, Stiles following as best he could in the Jeep. It was proving difficult because of the deluge outside.

 

Stiles was relying mostly on his internal map of the woods, because he couldn't see a damn thing. Two days ago they had almost nabbed the demon, but a particularly annoying omega had wandered into the territory attacking them giving Stiles a pretty scratch across the face. Fortunately, he was able to get wolfsbane in it in time. Not so fortunately--the demon had gotten away while they dealt with the wolf. Scott and Derek didn't even react to his wounds any more. They all knew that a few scratches meant nothing. 

 

The Jeep suddenly lurches forward and then stops moving altogether. Shit. Stiles quickly gets out, squinting his eyes against the rain. As soon as his shoes hit the ground, they sink in a couple of inches. The rain was turning the entire trail to mud. 

 

"Fuck," Stiles says under his breath. Then he yanks his hoodie up and reaches into the car to grab his bat. Looks like he would be on foot from here. 

 

As far as he can tell, Scott and Derek had been headed toward the Nemeton. Stiles favorite place. Why was it that all the creepy crawlies were attracted to that stupid stump?

 

As he makes his way through the trees, a howl—Derek—sounds from up ahead. He quickens his pace, shoulders his bat and hastens toward the source of the howl.

 

***

 

Stiles stumbles into the clearing and nearly loses his breath. On the stump, Scott is dangling by the claws of the demon that are speared straight through him. His head is rolling and blood is coming out of his mouth. At the foot of the monster is Derek. He isn't moving. Stiles can't tell from here if he's breathing.

 

The rain is still coming down. And Stiles is still here.

 

Of everyone. It's Stiles. Stiles, the stupid, weak, pathetic human that made it to the end. 

 

He can feel himself heating up. He clenched his bat. He had thrown himself headfirst into every one of their battles hoping that he wouldn't be the one to live to see this moment. 

 

Well.

 

He wasn't about to stop fighting now. 

 

The demon throws Scott to the ground. It's eyes are a sickly grey. It faces Stiles and raises its arms out to its sides as if to say, "What are you waiting for?"

 

Stiles closes his eyes. It's too much. Too painful to think about everyone he watched die. The rain runs down his face and he can smell the sweetness of the woods. But if this was the end... Stiles isn't much of a believing man, but right here and now, he lets himself hope beyond hope, that everyone was able to be happy—in heaven, in some alternate universe—just somehow. They had been so young. They had gone through so much. If there was such a thing as heaven, hell, his friends, his family, his pack, deserved that happiness. 

 

As for him? Well. Stiles really only had regrets at this point. He’s sorry for killing his friends. For getting his father shot. For not being _enough_ to stop everything. If he could go back, he wishes he would have never dragged Scott into the damn woods in the first place. Hell, while he’s throwing up crazy wishes— he wishes that Derek’s family had never died in that accursed fire. That was really the moment that set everything terrible in motion: the Nemeton, the Alpha pack, the Darach. 

 

He takes a deep breath, lifts his head, and locks eyes with the demon that was about to take him to hell. Thunder cracks overhead.

 

Stiles smiles slightly as he says, "I don't know if you've heard, but Beacon Hills is protected."

 

The demon, its pale skin glowing slightly, says in a low voice that sounds more like a croak than anything, "Oh yeah? By who?" It nods to the ground where Scott and Derek's bodies are.

 

Still smiling, Stiles raises his bat, gripping it tightly, "Me."

 

Lightning flashes.

 

Then Stiles runs at the demon.


	2. Molasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's warm. That's the first thing Stiles thinks. Everything is a little fuzzy, made worse by a thudding in his head. There are voices around him. Familiar. Stiles can't bring himself to open his eyes. Something beeps to his left.

He's warm. That's the first thing Stiles thinks. Everything is a little fuzzy, made worse by a thudding in his head. There are voices around him. Familiar. Stiles can't bring himself to open his eyes. Something beeps to his left. 

 

The voices are becoming clearer. Still sounds like they were underwater, but he feels like he’s surfacing. 

 

".....Why the hell was he in the woods?" someone asks.

 

"I've no idea. I woke up and he was gone," was that Derek—how was he even alive?—“The rain made it hard to track his scent, but he was alone and chilled to the bone when I found him.”

 

What the fucking fuck.

 

As Stiles head is rearranging itself, he gets a flash of the demon leering over Derek’s body. Stiles tries to make sense of how he and Derek are both alive—he hadn’t exactly been fighting a winning battle.

 

In fact, he’s not sure how he ended up beating the demon. Stiles prods his memory but his mind is moving like molasses and everything from that night feels murky. 

 

"And what the heck happened to his face? That scar looks like its been there for ages," another voice says—Scott was alive? 

 

What the hell is going on.

 

Each new piece of information was slowly filtering into Stiles' brain. He tries to open his eyes. Bad idea. The pain in his head turns from a muted throbbing to a sharp stabbing. Keeping his eyes closed seems like an excellent idea.

 

"Yeah, that's new. According to your mom, Stiles is pretty scarred all over. And his tattoo is gone," Derek says quietly. 

 

Somebody mutters something he can't hear. 

 

"Don't worry, I called him," Scott says. Stiles feels like crying. Somehow all three of them made it out. Despite the shitstorm of everything that had happened, they came out on the other side. He finally drags open his eyes and then immediately closes them, groaning. It's far too bright. That sharp stabbing is back and Stiles can’t help but let a gasp of pain escape.

 

“Hey—Shh. Stiles… It's okay," Derek says quickly, putting his hand gently on Stiles’ shoulder, "Don't move, you're pretty banged up."

 

Somebody behind him says, "I'll grab Melissa." Melissa? What in the ever living hell was going on? 

 

Stiles hears a door opening and Melissa's voice saying something and then: a voice he would recognize anywhere, one he thought he’d never hear again—”Where the hell is my son?!”

 

"Dad?" he tries to say but only a croak comes out and his throat burns. He opens his eyes for real this time.

 

"Stiles, shh, relax," Derek says quietly, eyes darting over Stiles’ face. 

 

Squinting slightly against the light. He's obviously in the hospital. Derek is leaning closely next to him, his arm lightly holding Stiles' shoulder, Scott standing behind him. Stiles looks around the room looking for that voice, getting a better bearing on his surroundings. He almost has a heart attack. 

 

What he sees is impossible.

 

Melissa McCall and his father are in the room.

 

Melissa starts messing with something behind him, but Stiles can't take his eyes off of his dad. He opens his mouth to say something, the words won't come, his mouth is too dry. 

 

"Hey son. Heard you've been getting into trouble," his dad smiles slightly, eyes crinkling in the corners, as he grabs Stiles' hand, "What are you, 16? Running around in the woods again?”

 

Stiles grips him back tightly in return. “Dad?” he croaks again. He cannot believe his father is here. His father is dead. Stiles put him in the ground. Either some dark magic was at play here or Stiles has officially lost it. Knowing his life it was probably both.

 

Melissa clucks her tongue, "It's not funny John. It dropped to 35 degrees last night. We're lucky Derek found him so quickly."

 

Then she leans over Stiles with a cup and straw, "Here Stiles, your throat is probably all dried out."

 

Stiles gulps down the water as he stares at this woman who also has been dead for years. She looks as young as ever. He can feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

 

"Hey, hey slow down," Melissa says, pulling the cup away, "Not too much at once." She strikes his hair back, looking down at him fondly.

 

Stiles glances back to his Dad. He's looking  at him expectantly. How is this real? How is his dad alive? And everyone else? This is insane.

 

"Am I dead?" he finally rasps. Derek's grip tightens minutely on his shoulder. Scott barks out a laugh.

 

"No, son," his dad chuckles, "Though you do have a mighty big bump on your head."

 

"But why are you all here?" Stiles can't stop staring at their faces.

 

"You're in the hospital, why wouldn't they come?" Derek says in the same, quiet, careful tone as before. He looks worried. To be honest, Stiles is pretty capital-F, Fucking worried too.

 

"How did I get here?" Stiles brain feels like it’s being overloaded and is going to crash any second.

 

"We're hoping you could tell us that part," his dad says a bit more seriously, "I sent Parrish out to check the area after Derek called me." He squints his eyes and puts his 'Sheriff voice' on, “I was a little worried there might have been something fishy going on. Were you alone? Or sleepwalking? Is that how you got injured?"

 

“I—what?" Stiles really has no idea what's going on now. This is ridiculous. Nothing is making any sense. He feels his breath quicken. He's starting to panic, "What injury? I was in the woods because I had to… I’m supposed to be—you’re supposed to be—,”

 

His breathing is shallow, a pain is flaring in his chest. Stiles can't get the words out. His vision starts to narrow.

 

Then there's a large warm hand across his chest and Derek's voice in his ear.

 

"Breathe, Stiles," he say soothingly, "You're okay. You’re okay. Just breathe."

 

In. Out. Stiles clutches at Derek's hand on his chest. In. Out. The panic starts to fade.

 

"There you go," Derek nods, "We'll figure it out."

 

Stiles blinked. Everyone was still staring at him with looks ranging between anxious and confused. 

 

"We can do some testing for any memory issues," Melissa says in a concerned voice.

 

"This might be a...supernatural problem," his dad says before turning to Derek, "Does Talia know?"

 

"Yeah," Derek tears his eyes away to look at the Sheriff, not taking his hand off Stiles' chest, "She stopped in earlier but wanted to go check out the area where I found him for herself."

 

Stiles' breathing under control, he rips Derek's hand off his chest and sits up.

 

Scott looks like he wants to shove Stiles right back down.

The pain in his chest is still there. The panic just humming below the surface, but he can't stay still because suddenly he's angry. All these people he loved are dead and Stiles is not fucking around. 

"I don't know what the hell is happening but you are all dead," he says, still breathing heavily, "I watched each and every one of you die. So somebody tell me what the hell is going on."

 

Derek looks down at him like he wants to put his hand back on Stiles. His eyes are scrunched up in worry. He looks so different. There are no bags under his eyes, there's no anger. His hair is longer. He's not even wearing his leather jacket--he has a fucking plaid shirt on. 

 

Stiles turns to Scott. Scott, his best friend since they were freaking five. Scott who's looking at his with a scared expression. And usually whatever has Scott looking freaked out usually is something Stiles should freak out about too. 

And hell, Scott is almost unrecognizable. He's dressed up in a suit and tie. Stiles has literally never seen Scott wear a tie in his whole life.

 

His dad and Melissa look just like they did before they died--before the worst of everything.

 

"We should have a full pack meeting," Scott interrupts Stiles thoughts, "I think we need the other alphas here."

 

"You guys—“ Stiles gestures at his dad and Melissa, "You have been dead for a year. Melissa was taken down by a rogue omega, and dad," he gulps, "You got shot." He doesn't add shot because Stiles had been so stupid and reckless.

 

His dad's brow is furrowed, but he nods in agreement. Scott kinda looks like he might throw up.

 

"Scott," Derek says all of a sudden, "Call my mother and let her know we are coming over immediately and we'll need Deaton."

 

Scott nods once and steps outside the room.

Stiles almost yells after him--he just got Scott back from the freaking dead and he doesn't want him out of his sight in case the rug gets yanked out from under him.

"Melissa, can you get Stiles checked out of the hospital? I think it's best he comes home now, before people start asking questions," Derek continues. Stiles' dad nods in agreement as Melissa turns on her heel.

 

“I gotta go, I’m still on duty—but I’ll see you boys tomorrow,” his dad says before leaning over Stiles and gripping the back of his neck. 

He stares into Stiles' eyes, which are now watery, "Son. We are going to figure this out. Okay?"

Stiles nods slowly. He feels like he's 5 and in kindergarten again, doesn't want his dad to leave. 

His dad rubs his hand over Stiles' head, just like he did when Stiles was in kindergarten.

The Sheriff turns to Derek, "Keep me updated. I'll come by early in the morning."

Derek nods once, "I'll take care of him."

"I know you will, son," John says before following Melissa out the door.

 

It's just Derek in the room now.

 

"Derek, please," Stiles begs, "What is going on?"

 

Derek crouches next the bed and grabs his hand with both of his. Stiles jumps at the contact. The alpha never touched him unless it was violently throwing him against something. Or fucking. But hand-holding and concern? Never. This gentleness was bizarre.

 

Derek's eyes bore into his, as if hunting for an answer.

 

"I don't know," Derek breathes through his nostrils, "But yesterday, we had dinner with my parents, went home, got into bed and fell asleep."

 

Stiles can't figure if he's the crazy one or if Derek is. 

 

Derek tightens his grip, concern etched across his forehead, "I was so scared when I woke up and you weren't there," he shakes his head, "And then I couldn't catch your scent. I was running, hoping to god nothing had happened." Derek lifts one of his hands and lightly cups Stiles' cheek.

 

Stiles jerks back, yanking his hand away from Derek, "What the hell, dude?” Sure they are pack and ‘Seeking Fuckbuddy for the End of the World’-kind-of-friends, but they definitely didn’t do this. 

 

Derek leans back, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging slightly open.

 

"This isn't like the worst situation we've ever been in. I don't need to be comforted or whatever," Stiles says waving one hand. This was totally unprecedented, Derek being nice.

 

"Let's just talk to Deaton and figure out what is happening," Stiles says as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Taking quick stock of his injuries, he thinks he can walk without too much pain. Derek's expression is unreadable.

 

"Come on sourwolf," Stiles says with a smirk, "If you're breaking me out of the hospital, you're going to have to help me find my clothes."

 

 

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so everyone's dead... OR ARE THEY.


End file.
